


Old Piano Keys

by makeshiftrolley



Series: Snapshots [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4850393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeshiftrolley/pseuds/makeshiftrolley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a one-sentence prompt on tumblr, "Teach me how to play?"</p><p>There was a piano room-an empty room with a piano, two doors away from the chemistry laboratories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Piano Keys

There was a piano room-an empty room with a piano, two doors away from the chemistry laboratories. The walls were painted with a shade of yellow; not the appealing kind of yellow, rather it was a yellow that told Dorian the room was far older than him. Dust has settled in most corners of the room, besides the lone piano in the corner than Dorian had painstakingly cleaned each time he visited this place. 

He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping off any speck of dust on the piano. He drew the piece of cloth over ever nook, through the crescent shapes that line the side of the instrument and on the faded key. Once white, they now resembled the gaudy yellow of the wallpaper. 

They still produced sounds, beautiful sounds, as if the piano has not been rotting in his room for the last two decades or so. And that was far better than any piano Dorian had received in his life. 

Dorian positioned himself on the bench-back straight, feet tucked, elbows out-just as his music tutor has always taught him. He stretched his fingers and began to play. 

A simple tune for a man as skilled with music as Dorian was. Years of training has allowed him to perfect his talent for the instrument. If it were not for his father’s demand, he would not have achieve such a talent. Dorian chuckled, an engineer, a master of his own creation, could not even be a master of his own life. 

But he knew this song well enough, choreographed it to a sequence of steps soon to occur. When the song shifted to another melody, he would hear a series of footfalls from the nearby chemistry laboratory. When the tune decrescendos, he would appear at the door; googles still perched on his nose with his lab coat still on. As soon as the melody began to crescendo once more, he would shuck off his lab coat and his goggles. When the tune began to pick its pace, Florante would be standing beside the piano; his lab materials neatly folded in his bag. 

“Teach me how to play?” he asked as he slipped on that ridiculous jacket Vivienne insisted they wear as executive members of the student society. (Dorian had his stuffed in his closet, in his room where it belonged, and Florante followed all rules. No matter, that ridiculous jacket suited him. Anything suited him.)

Dorian glanced at Florante, “Didn’t you say you have no talent for the piano? Why the change all of a sudden?” his fingers appeared to be automatons as they continue to produce music on their own accord. 

Florante sat himself on the bench, a finger drawing lines on Dorian’s thigh and Dorian was sure he skipped a beat on the tune and his heart. Florante whispered, “So I can play it for you next time.”


End file.
